


What The Rain Can't Wash Away

by nedstark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Identity Issues, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, background clintasha but it's there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nedstark/pseuds/nedstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's mouth is set in a grim line, yet his chin trembles with the effort of keeping control.</p><p>"Steve," his voice cracks through the heavy patter of the rain like thunder. "I remember."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snowingiron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowingiron/gifts), [apfelhalm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelhalm/gifts).



> Blame Yoko Ono for this is all I can say. You'll see why eventually.
> 
> Post CATWS, ignoring AOU (aren't we all) and Tony still has the arc reactor.
> 
> For [Tasha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowingiron) and [Tess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaScythe). Love yall ♥♥
> 
> I hope yall enjoy! It's been super fun to write.

The pouring rain comes down in sheets and he's drenched in it. Who knows how long he's been stood out there. It runs in rivulets down his face, his long unkempt hair.

Bucky's mouth is set in a grim line, yet his chin trembles with the effort of keeping control.

"Steve," his voice cracks through the heavy patter of the rain like thunder. "I remember."

The city is a grey blur around them and the rain bounces back where it hits the ground causing a thin mist to cling to the floor, around their ankles, but the warm glow of light seeps through the foyer doors beside them.

Steve is stunned into speechlessness seeing Bucky standing there. It's like no time or trouble has passed. He fleetingly feels displaced, out of time, doesn't trust the ground beneath his feet.

Bucky's just watching him, unmoving except for his heaving chest. Steve carefully, unbelieving, walks out to him.

"You remember?" His voice is thick with hope. 

Bucky nods, staring back just as carefully, still not moving even as Steve finally reaches him.

Steve tastes salt in the rain and realises that he's crying. He closes the remaining distance without really thinking about it and hugs Bucky in desperate relief, curled over and around him as if to shield him from something; the rain, the world, Hydra, himself.

He hears Bucky's sharp intake of breath and Steve bites back a sob when he feels Bucky's hands tentatively drift to his sides. His fingers curl in the wet material of Steve's shirt, and for one heartbreakingly familiar moment they cling to each other, but then Bucky lets go like he's been scalded and Bucky stiffens in his arms.

"God, I'm sorry." Steve gasps, breathless, but Bucky could hear him clear as day over the rain.

"It's okay." Bucky says quietly and Steve wishes he could believe him, but Bucky looks panicked and a bit overwhelmed and Steve is stricken numb with the image of Bucky walking away in the downpour.

He shudders, cold seeping right through to his bones. Steve holds a hand out to him.

"Wanna get outta this rain?"

It's more than just that. Steve knows it and Bucky knows it too because he bites his lip and nods jerkily, accepting Steve's hand like he's scared he'll change his mind and bolt.

Steve gently tugs Bucky into the foyer. They wait for the elevator, dripping and water puddling at their feet, and Steve can feel Bucky's hand shake in his own. He gives Bucky's hand a reassuring squeeze and they only let go when the doors slide silently shut in front of them.

"JARVIS," Steve murmurs when he and Bucky are shoulder to shoulder in the elevator, yet still so far apart, Bucky almost plastered to the wall opposite Steve's side. "Tell the others to back off for the next few days. Tell, Tony," Steve's voice breaks. "Tell him to trust me. Please."

If Bucky finds it strange that he's talking to apparent thin air, he doesn't say anything. He keeps his eyes on the ground, occasionally glancing around, and tries to be as unimposing as possible.

They arrive at Steve's floor seconds later. Bucky watches him warily from beneath his soaked hair and Steve wonders whether it's him Bucky doesn't trust fully or himself. But after a second of hesitation, Bucky follows him without a word.

"I'll get you some dry clothes, you must be freezing. I'll be right back," he gestures lamely to the sofas. "Go ahead and get comfortable if you like."

Steve returns from his room, changed and mostly dry. He lays the pile of clean laundry for Bucky on the arm of the sofa and pats it.

"Here you go, hopefully they should fit. Might be a little big."

Bucky reaches for them and winces, a flash of pain lighting his face.

"Are you injured?" Steve asks suddenly, stopping in his tracks to the kitchen.

"Abdomen." Bucky says dully and lets Steve lead him into the bathroom, grabbing his first aid kit on the way.

Steve sits him on the wide rim of the huge tub and kneels beside him. Bucky peels his upper clothing off without a word, old dried blood caked around the wound.

"I might have gotten shot." Bucky murmurs quietly.

"There's two slugs." Steve says with a frown, nasty shallow bullet wounds on Bucky's shoulder and above his hip.

"I might have gotten shot twice."

" _Bucky_." Steve sighs, heart clenching. He wipes the wet hair back from Bucky's face on impulse and Bucky's eyes flutter shut at the touch. His hands grip the edge of the tub and he sags where he sits. Steve disinfects his hands and gets started.

While he works he steals glances when he thinks Bucky's not looking. He looks ill, wan and sickly pale under the dimmed lights. His eyes are sunken and bruised, and his cheeks are stark and hollow. He's tense and edgy but considering everything, he's probably as relaxed as he could ever be at this point. He's here and that's all that matters.

It's painfully familiar again, and yet so new to them.

Even as Steve digs around under his skin for the bullets, Bucky makes no noise of pain or protest. The only tell is the sudden press of his lips in discomfort, sweat beading on his forehead. Steve works in silence and the bullets are soon removed. He wipes the old flaking blood away until the wounds are clean and they already look better. The wounds are disinfected next and luckily don't need stitching, no bleeding, so he dresses them as they are.

Whoever was on the other end of the gun must have known what they were doing and who they were shooting at, because the bullets aren't ordinary bullets. They're coated or inlaid with something that's slowed Bucky's advanced healing down, and if it slowed his healing down, it slowed him down. It would have given whoever shot Bucky a better chance of intercepting and recapturing him.

Anger and dread make his hands shake under the running tap. He grits his teeth and dries his hands, and Bucky's voice startles him as he kneels back down in front of him.

"I saw you. Us. At the Smithsonian. What we were."

"Bucky--" Steve starts and his heart breaks for all to hear it.

"Don't." Bucky exhales sharply.

"It's okay."

Bucky makes a noise like a dying animal, half whine, half whimper, and his face crumples. He covers his face with one hand.

Steve desperately wants to reach for him, to be there for Bucky to reach out for if he wanted to. Bucky means more than the world to him, and Steve meant what he said; even when he had nothing and no one (even when _Steve_ was nothing and no one) he still had Bucky. Steve needs to let him know that Bucky has him, no matter what. Til the end of the line, and further.

"I'm here, you're here, and that's enough, that's what matters. Okay? We start from here. Together."

Steve tentatively holds Bucky's upper arms, his touch light and soft and barely there. Bucky looks up in alarm where Steve touches him and that seems to undo everything. He lets out a shaky breath and leans forward so quick if Steve had blinked he would have missed it.

Bucky presses his forehead against Steve's shoulder, and stays there, head bowed. Steve slides an arm around Bucky's shoulders and rests a heavy, grounding hand on the nape of Bucky's neck.

The only sounds are Steve's soft breaths and Bucky's ragged breathing, his hitching muffled sobs. Steve hesitates and lets his hand drift up to tangle in Bucky's long hair. He combs his fingers through it and Bucky's breathing slowly evens out.

"Think you could sleep?"

Bucky nods against him.

In no time at all Bucky's in Steve's baggy clothes, tucked up in the bed of one of the guest rooms.

"If you need anything I'm just down the hall. I mean it, Buck. Anything. Even if you can't remember where the refrigerator is. Or the bathroom."

Bucky huffs a soft, tired laugh. "Thanks."

"Goodnight, Buck." Steve hesitates over the threshold.

He can see the glint of Bucky's eyes even in the darkness, his metal hand too.

"I'll still be here when you wake up, Steve." Bucky says quietly.

"Promise?" The word slips out before he can stop himself.

"I promise. Goodnight."

"Night." Throat thick again and eyes burning, Steve quietly closes the door and retreats to his own room.

"Your earlier message was received, Captain." JARVIS says when he shuts the door behind himself.

"Thanks, JARVIS. Wake me if anything happens," and Steve hates himself for saying it. "Don't let him in the elevator alone."

"Most likely for the best for now, Captain." JARVIS reassures softly, and the lights dim around him.

Steve peels off his trousers and shirt and tiredly climbs into bed. He hasn't spent many nights down here on his own floor in months but the sheets are warm and clean and so inviting, even without a certain someone hogging the blankets and _his_ side of the bed. Steve thinks he could sleep naked on sandpaper right now and still thank you for it. He feels every single day the 97 years old he actually is.

Steve lays awake staring at the ceiling for what could be hours or minutes, the night's events playing out before his eyes on constant repeat.

It wasn't how he thought he'd have Bucky back in his life. No explosions, no death, no search and rescue. Bucky came to _him_. Rain instead of fire. Quiet voices and tears instead of begging and pleading and blood. Just him and Bucky.

Steve has everyone he loves and cares about under one roof for the first time since the 40's. This should be the soundest sleep he's ever had.

It isn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky was still there when Steve woke up the next morning, but he didn't leave his room. JARVIS informed him that Bucky was still sleeping, he also told Steve when he woke up. Steve asked JARVIS to keep an eye on him but leave him be.

It's the least he could do to give Bucky his space. God knows he deserved it. Steve thought breakfast in bed was probably pushing it so he left a plate of food outside Bucky's door around midday.

"Buck?" He knocked lightly. "There's lunch out here if you're hungry. It's your favourite."

He made his steps purposefully loud as he retreated to the kitchen. When he checked a few hours later, the plate was still there but the food had vanished.

That was the routine for almost four days. He tried not to worry. If something were seriously wrong, JARVIS would let him know.

Steve typed out messages to the others while he waited. Said that things were as good as could be expected, it's just gonna take time. He asked them to keep their distance still, emergencies aside, and if he needed them they'll know. Tony even told _him_ to make sure he ate and slept. It was almost ironic enough to make him laugh out loud but the haunted look on Bucky's face, the conflicted emotions (and his present absence) is more than enough to sober him.

But as the days dragged by, the waiting began to make him agitated, as much as he tried to keep himself busy. He laid out the breakfast table same as he'd done every morning so far. Milk and some boxes of cereal, bowls, spoons, orange juice, and toast piled high on a plate. Steve lingered in the kitchen wiping down every already spotless surface, mind on the day ahead when he heard the faint open and closing of a door down the hall.

Bucky soon padded into the kitchen on bare feet. He hovered at the edge of the room and gave Steve a little nod, slightly unsure of himself, before he made his mind up and took a seat at the set table.

Just seeing him there (in his _home_ ) was enough to put Steve at ease. It probably shouldn't have considering the circumstances and what was surely still to come, but it really truly did.

"How you feeling?"

"Lucid," Bucky said dryly. "Sweated out a mild fever. Shoulder still aches, but it's almost healed. Thanks for that."

"Well I couldn't leave my best guest to bleed out now, could I?"

"On those fancy sheets? Forget about it."

Steve smiled faintly. He gestured to the spread on the table and Bucky hesitantly helped himself.

"Who's Jarvis?" Bucky eventually asked through a mouthful of cereal.

Despite looking like he hasn't actually slept for a week (with bags under his eyes that Steve could use for suitcases) he's endearingly sleep ruffled, the worst bed head Steve could ever remember. He had that vaguely offended to be awake mood he always used to have in the mornings.

"The artificial intelligence that runs the tower, security, all that kinda stuff. Everything basically."

Bucky swallowed and hummed, glanced at the ceiling.

"An invisible robot butler. Very futuristic." There was a hint of a smile on Bucky's face when he looked at him. Steve grinned.

"JARVIS? Wanna introduce yourself?"

"Certainly, Captain. Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. Welcome to the Avengers Tower. I am, to an extent as is the case with everyone in the tower, at your disposal. It's been a pleasure to meet you."

Bucky's eyes widened. "Sergeant Barnes," he repeated, as if the words didn't fit right in his mouth, a different language. "Haven't heard that in a while." With visible effort he shrugged it off and tried to keep his tone as light as he could. "Nice meeting you too," he shook his head. "A talking house. Who'd have thought?"

"The Starks." Steve smiled.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Of course, who else."

He pushed the hair out of his eyes and hesitated before speaking.

"I, uh, went back to Brooklyn. They knocked down our old apartment, you know that?"

Steve's smile turned wistful. "Yeah, I did. First place I really went to out of ice."

"That's real nostalgic, Steve."

"You went there too, hypocrite."

"True. I hated that place anyway. Did we have a sea view? No, we didn't. Just Mr. Rumkowski's hairy vested man chest and his inability to ever wear pants. I think he did it on purpose."

Steve valiantly tried to keep a straight face. It'd been so long but it was a conversation they'd had countless times and Bucky always took it hilariously serious. "Captain Rum wasn't that bad."

"Steve, he bent over every time I walked past the window. How isn't that bad? It was like he had a third eye in his ass."

"Why were you looking?"

"I couldn't not look! It was a small window, he took up the whole pane. Barely a living room in our place, a damn kitchen bathroom combo, and a draught that could knock _me_ down. All for the thieving rate it was. Company wasn't too bad though." Bucky glanced at him.

Steve smirked. "Are you kidding? Company was the _worst_ part. All he ever did was complain about the apartment and neighbours like I wasn't living right there with him," he rubbed his mouth, cheeks aching with mirth. "It was four walls, Buck. I liked it. Felt like it was us against the world."

"It _was_ us against the world." Bucky huffed, taking a sip of orange juice.

"What about the Armandos? That time they invited us over for the holidays?"

"That was great," Bucky's face lit up at the memory. Steve's breath caught in his throat. "Couldn't move for a week after that meal. Had enough leftovers to last til next year."

"Mr. Armando would give you all his hand-me-downs and Mrs. Armando would give me hers."

"Oh god, I remember. That lilac shawl? And you still wore it."

"Lavender," Steve corrected then shrugged. "It was warm as hell, no point in wasting it."

Bucky had to admit it was warm as hell, and Steve had given _him_ hell when he came home to find Bucky shuffling around the tiny kitchen with the shawl wrapped around his shoulders.

"They cried when I enlisted, you know," Bucky admitted quietly, pursing his lips. "They promised me they'd look out for you if anything happened to me. I asked them if they could please look out for you anyway and that made them cry more.

"It felt, not good exactly, but I guess I felt less guilty knowing I wasn't leaving you completely alone."

"They were real good to me," Steve assured. "They were like family. But they weren't you, Buck."

Bucky smiled tightly and looked away.

Steve watched him push around the sodden cereal in his bowl. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leant back against the counter.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked casually.

"No." Bucky said immediately.

"Bucky--"

" _No_. I can't, not with you. I don't want you to--," he faltered and grimaced brokenly. "The things I've _done_ , Steve."

"That wasn't you." Steve said simply.

Bucky's eyes were bright with sudden fear. They flickered to the widows and doors. He breathed heavily. "I just can't, Steve. There's too much to--. Not with you. Not yet."

"Okay. Not with me. But with someone I trust? Someone I know could help?"

Bucky looked at him warily as he worked it out. "Wilson."

Steve nodded. "Sam's a good man. You wouldn't be the only one here he helps."

"I don't know..."

"It's your decision, I'm not gonna force you. I just want to help, any way that I can."

Bucky's metal fingers drummed the table absently as he stared hard in thought.

"Fine." Bucky muttered. "He either has crazy credentials or he's straight up crazy to try. Tell him to arm himself."

"You won't hurt him, Bucky."

"Well at least one of us has faith in me." Bucky spat bitterly. The chair scattered back as he stood abruptly. He touched light fingertips to the table and leant in closer. The effect wasn't lost even though Bucky wore two of Steve's thickest warm sweaters that hung off him. "Listen to me, Steve. I am not safe. As much as you wish I was, I'm not. He has to be armed. That's my one and only condition. Please."

The air between them was suddenly suffocatingly tense, and the distance between them gaping. They watched each other from opposite sides of the room.

"I'm sorry," Steve finally said, and he sounded genuinely remorseful. Bucky wondered if he was sorry about underestimating him or about every single thing else they hadn't got out in the open yet. "I'll tell him."

Bucky nodded shortly, regretful at his outburst but firm. "Thank you."

It almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

*

They were on their fourth movie in a row when Wilson showed up the next day.

Steve rose to meet him, friendly hands clamped on shoulders. Bucky stayed on the sofa and kept his distance, watching them carefully.

"Bucky, this is Sam. Sam, Bucky."

"We've met." Wilson said with a faint smile.

Bucky felt on the edge of mortified, but he met Sam's eyes determinedly.

"I'm sorry--"

Wilson shook his head and held up his hands. "Not what I meant, not like that. Bad ice breaker. I know that wasn't you."

"So are we gonna..." Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He desperately tried to keep control but he was this close to shaking.

"There's no rush, man. Whenever you're ready," Wilson glanced at the screen. "Oh! No way are you guys having movie night without me! Make room, dudes."

Steve snorted and sat back down. Sam settled in on Steve's free side.

"Hit it, JARVIS."

*

Bucky watched Wilson from the corner of his eye more than he focused on the movie in front of them. He tracked Wilson's easy movements. Bucky was painfully aware of his presence, but if Wilson was uncomfortable in Bucky's, he didn't let it show. If anything Wilson looked goddamn relaxed. Bucky had to grind his teeth to stop himself from screaming. Didn't they know what he was capable of? What he's already done? How easy it would be? Steve seemed completely at ease too. Bucky didn't know when they exactly met but he knows what went down in DC cemented their friendship. Steve really did trust this man, in the field and out of it. Steve trusted Wilson with him. Steve also trusted _him_ with Wilson, which made Bucky want to literally shake some sense into him and prove his point.

He scowled and finally focused on the screen. A hundred different things were buzzing around inside his head when Steve bumped the popcorn bowl against his arm. He almost flinched.

"I'm fine." He said a bit too forcefully. He was still in his head.

"More for me." Wilson shrugged easily, and reached around Steve to help himself.

"Why do you always eat like you haven't eaten for a week every time you get here?" Steve sighed and went to get more snacks from the kitchen

"Cause I ain't paying for it."

Bucky counted the seconds of Steve's absence.

"That's not realistic," he heard Wilson say under his breath. Bucky frowned at him, and Wilson smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but you know what I mean, man. You fought in a war. The performance they're giving is for a completely different kind of soldier." He gestured toward the screen.

Bucky looked away but he had to agree, he'd been thinking the same thing himself. He vaguely remembered from the research he'd done about all the people surrounding Steve that Wilson had two tours under his belt. All three of them were soldiers. Maybe that was why Steve thought Wilson would be a suitable impromptu therapist.

"Don't they have people to research that kinda thing?" He heard himself mutter.

Wilson snorted and shook his head. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

Bucky felt the corner of his mouth hitch up before schooling his features back into impassiveness.

*

Sam Wilson, Bucky soon discovered, was a very involved person when it came to watching movies. He equally ran his own commentary as well as shushed them whenever they so much as breathed too loud.

It was highly satisfying when Steve started doing it on purpose, but Wilson's threat of spoilers soon chastised him into silence.

Wilson huffed and rolled his eyes from around Steve's side as if to say, _can you believe this guy?_

Yes, Bucky thought suddenly, wholeheartedly, he could. He trusted Steve with his life, that's why he came back to him in the first place. He could trust Steve in this too.

"Wilson?"

Wilson tossed some popcorn high up into the air and caught each of them in his mouth. There was a bright pleased smile on his face when he looked over at Bucky. "Yeah, man?"

Bucky took a deep breath. "Ready when you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It's always tricky when you introduce your old friends to your new friends because there's so much riding on it. But usually your old friends aren't recovering cybernetic enhanced brainwashed ex-assassins back from the dead after seventy years and your new friends don't include Norse alien gods, billionaires, rage monsters, and more assassins.
> 
> Welcome to Steve Rogers' life.
> 
> We get into the swing of things next chapter and finally meet the others! What could go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

"Honestly? I think it'd help if you got out of the suite, even for a few hours. I know it seems like the only safe place you have but it can be confining and it won't help in the long run, believe me. You should think about meeting the others."

Bucky stopped his pacing. It was actually something Sam had suggested, and Bucky found it helped him unwind when his anxiety spiked. He would ache after these talks with Sam if he just sat stiff and rigid from start to finish, muscles tense, chest hardly even moving for his shallow breathing, mostly focusing on not dying or losing himself to a panic attack. Or both. Bucky didn't even know how many miles he'd covered in this small space already.

He looked at Sam warily. "They don't trust me."

"They trust Steve, and Steve trusts you. Which is probably as good as we could have hoped for," Sam said amiably. "I don't think it's doing you good thinking that you're surrounded by a bunch of strangers you don't know or trust that are just waiting for their chance or for you to slip up. I'm not saying you have to hug it out or hang around yet. Just baby steps."

Bucky tried not to feel irritated at the wording. Sam would never mean it like that, degrading. Bucky knew that (and Sam himself) as well enough as he could in the two weeks solid they'd been having these unofficial sessions. "How about dinner?"

Sam looked impressed. "I said steps not leaps. Sure you can handle that?"

Bucky shrugged. "No, but I wanna try. You'll be there, Steve'll be there. I'm tired of doing nothing but cry about it."

"Okay, first? You're not doing nothing. Is sitting here talking about it nothing?"

"No," Bucky admitted. "But you know what I mean. Actually seeing some results would be real refreshing."

"Sometimes you have to heal the stuff you can't see first."

"Easier said than done." Bucky muttered under his breath, and resumed his idle length of the room.

Sam heard him and smiled. "Fine. I'm not letting this go though. What about the fact you're actually comfortable in my presence? You haven't bolted or tried to kill me, right? That's results, man. Don’t put yourself down.”

Bucky hummed noncommittally and rolled his stiff shoulders.

"Dinner's at seven, right?"

"Yep." Sam nodded.

Bucky turned away and stared out the window at the stretching skyline. He made up his mind then and there, and clenched his fists tightly when they started to shake. "I'll be ready."

*

Tony clapped his hands together. The sudden noise went unappreciated in the quiet kitchen. "Set an extra place, Hawkeye."

"Is Sam staying?" Bruce asked from the stove.

"Set two extra places." Tony corrected, casually sliding in to lean against the counter.

If the kitchen was quiet before it was silent now. They turned to stare at him, unbelieving.

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"If you think it means Steve's long lost best friend who tried to kill him multiple times last year is stable enough to mingle, then yes."

"You're serious." Clint said, still clutching a pile of plates. He glanced from Natasha to Tony.

"As a heart attack and I should know, I almost had one once and--"

" _Stark_."

"Yes, okay? God," Tony rolled his eyes. "Barnes is staying for dinner, which means best behaviour. Please. I don't even want to _think_ about the possible damage costs."

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line.

".....joking, obviously. It’s fine, it'll be fine. It's just dinner."

Bruce looked neutral. Tony would happily take that for now. Natasha however looked like she'd rather be anywhere in the world other than here right now, preferably with someone sailing through the air above her or pinned beneath her in the training room.

"If you can't do it for Barnes, do it for Steve. We owe him this."

Clint still looked wary, but it must have worked because Natasha nodded tightly.

"He has been through much and more, by the tales told to me," Thor suddenly looked troubled. "How may we ease the suffering of the Soldier of Winter?"

"Probably by not calling him that." Bruce glanced at him mildly.

Tony rolled his eyes again. "Look, I heard what Sam and Steve said. We don't act like we've got weapons hidden behind our backs and we're ready and waiting to jump him. Because we're not, even if you are packing. He came here for help, so.....we help."

"How?"

"Do everything Hydra didn't do and you're probably on the right track."

Natasha looked impressed. "You should do this professionally."

"Your sarcasm continues to warm me. Just act natural.” He glanced around the kitchen. "Half natural? Be polite, don't bombard him with shit, offer him extra helpings."

"Worked for me." Clint shrugged.

"See?" Tony said.

"Tell our Captain we look forward to meeting the true Barnes." Thor announced, clamping a comradely hand on Tony's shoulder that almost sent him stumbling. 

"This is the is the part where we regret skipping the People Skills part of training."

Tony pointed at Bruce. "Stop that. No negativity for the next few hours. Even we can manage that. Say it with me: Optimism! Positivity!"

"And _this_ is why Steve gives the pep talks." Clint whispered loudly to Natasha.

"I know," Tony sighed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He swung his feet up to rest on the table. "So what's for dessert?"

*

Seven o'clock rolled around way too quick for Bucky’s comfort, even with the whole day to prepare himself. With some unsettling sense of finality, Steve met him in the kitchen and walked them both to the elevator. Bucky could feel Steve looking at him from the corner of his eye.

"Give us a sec, JARVIS." Steve asked just before the elevator slid into place.

"Of course, Captain." 

Bucky breathed deeply (no shallow breaths, just like Sam taught him) and stared hard at the floor. He pressed his mouth into a tight line.

"Hey," Steve said, soft and firm all at once. He ducked his head to catch Bucky's eye. "You got this. Me and Sam are right here. We got your back."

Bucky glanced at him. It was on the tip of his tongue to say it was everyone else's backs that Steve and Sam should probably have, not his. He tipped his head back against the wall of the elevator and breathed out long and slow, and purposely loosened his posture and let neutral impassiveness mask his features, hopefully the one that looked like he was non-threatening and mostly human and not the cold unreadable blankness of the killing machine. He'd practised all afternoon, sat in front of the mirror in the bathroom that Steve had first patched him up in.

"Yeah, sure I do." Bucky nodded, like he was trying to convince himself as well. He pursed his lips and lightly shoved Steve with his shoulder. "What's dinner compared to war torn Europe? I've totally got this. It's in the bag, if I had one."

Steve grinned and squeezed Bucky's shoulder. As the elevator finally announced their arrival above them, Steve's hand slid to the small of Bucky's back. The comforting warmth of it was grounding. Bucky tried to focus on it.

But when the doors swept open silently, and five mostly unknown faces not-so-subtlety glanced around to look at him, he realised he definitely did _not_ have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter got a bit too long and I haven't updated in awhile so I thought why the heck not and split it up a bit. Sorry for the cliffhanger.  
> Also WOW the Civil War trailer destroyed me emotionally. So....onwards with denial and very very very wishful thinking :^)


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky had never been so happy to see Steve’s ugly sofa and ridiculously big TV screen in his life. It felt like a sanctuary after how he'd spent his evening.

"I just had civil dinner with a person I shot twice, the son of a dead old friend, and a Norse god, amongst others. Jesus fuckin' Christ," Bucky ran both hands through his hair and gripped tight. "I'm exhausted. See you next week."

"Buck." Steve huffed. Sam shook his head, laughing.

"I'm serious," Bucky said half serious and turned and walked backwards down the hall the rest of the way to his room. "After that? I'm done for the week. I'll take syrup with my pancakes in the morning, thanks Steve. Night, Sam."

"Proud of ya!" Steve called down the hall. Bucky made a vague noise of acknowledgement before his door closed behind him.

Steve smiled but when he glanced at Sam, the look on his face was enough to make his smile falter. “What?”

“You didn't tell him.”

“Well he didn't exactly give me the chance, Sam. And you heard him, he’s exhausted. He doesn't need anything else to worry about tonight. I’ll tell him whenever he next surfaces for food, which won’t be too long because he’s a bottomless pit as always.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sam waved it away, patting Steve on the back. “I’ll tell him myself. It’ll probably be better coming from me anyway.”

*

Sam didn't get the chance to tell Bucky himself.

"You're leaving." Bucky said, leaning against Sam's door. He was zipping up a pretty packed suitcase. It wasn't a question.

Sam stopped what he was doing and turned. "It's short notice, I know, but I have some people waiting on me in DC. People who need help too. Is that okay, man?"

Bucky hesitated before nodding tightly.

"Good, okay. JARVIS? You have my number?"

"Indeed I do."

Sam turned to Bucky fully and looked him straight in the eye. "You need anything, you call me. Even if it's the time or the date or you're just missing me that much, you call me. Understood?"

Bucky nodded again, glancing away and pocketing his hands.

"Good man. I'll see you again in a few days. I really am sorry it's so last minute." And Sam did look guilty but he did a good job of not letting it show, keeping it easy as always. Bucky mildly hated him, envied him and felt grateful all at once.

"I'll be fine." Bucky forced a smile that he quickly dropped. 

Sam clamped a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezed. "You know I really wouldn't do this if I didn't think you could handle it. I'll be back before you know it."

He hefted his suitcase up and pulled it behind him.

"Wait," Sam skidded to a halt on his way out. "Before I forget, you have full access to the communal floor from now on."

Lost for words was an understatement. “What?”

"You know the floor we all ate together? It's all yours man. It's been decided."

"By who?" Bucky demanded a little heatedly, willing the fingers of his metal hand to stop twitching. It was getting harder to breathe.

Sam shrugged. "All of us."

He couldn't understand. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. They're trusting you with this. Trusting _you_. Progress, right?"

"Shut the fuck up. They _shouldn't_ be trusting me with _anything_. They don't fucking know me--"

"But now they can, if you want them to, with you having access to the communal floor, and you can know them too. It'll be okay. There’s no pressure. You don't have to go up there if you think you're not ready yet. You can wait until I get back."

"I fucking will." Bucky said immediately, crossing his arms and leaving Sam to it. "Have a safe flight."

*

The communal floor had some of the best views of the city, Bucky had to admit. He really was determined not to go up without Steve or Sam with him, but with countless sleepless nights, Sam away in DC, Steve asleep and the walls of his room slowly closing in on him, he reluctantly gave in. Maybe a change of scene _would_ help. He knew he couldn't stay hidden away on Steve’s floor forever. Baby steps.

Bucky ran a quick scan of the area and found it dimly lit, quiet and blessedly empty just like JARVIS promised. He padded over on silent feet and curled up in the window seat that overlooked the busy bustling streets and watched the city below. He wondered how many people were looking up at the same time.

It’s in his blood, this city, but everything’s changed. It changed without him, in a blink of an eye, but he's changed too and that's what truly terrifies him. He fights it everyday and feels like he's pretending to be someone he's not anymore because he desperately wants to be the same person Steve knew and lost all those years ago, he's trying so hard but the cracks are getting deeper and he knows he's gonna lose one day soon. What will Steve say when he finds out he's more than that person now? More than the _old Bucky_.

Bucky has no idea what he's going to do and he doesn't know how long he stays there, drifting in and out of fitful sleep as the city glows beneath him. He blinked heavily, eyes bleary and is so lost in his own head he failed to hear the soft approaching footsteps.

And suddenly he's jolted into a different time and place and Howard Stark's ghost is asking if he's okay.

*

JARVIS had warned him, more for Barnes’ sake then Tony’s own and sure he probably could've made do with the questionable leftovers in the fridge in his lab but he’d promised Steve he’d make the effort. He wasn't exactly ready for it, this impromptu late night one-on-one with Barnes, but when sunken, bruised eyes meet Tony’s own, he couldn't help but wince. Barnes looked like he hadn't slept in a week which, yeah, he probably hasn't.

"Okay there, soldier?" Tony asked lightly as he sauntered into the kitchen and almost spluttered when he saw the look on Barnes' face. Ideally Tony would love to punch himself right now. Hard. Gauntlets and all. "I mean, shit, not Winter Soldier, like _army_ soldier. Super soldier. I didn't mean--" he rolled his eyes to the heavens and clenched his jaw with effort, not wanting to do more damage. God he wished Steve was here. Why was he so charming with people he literally couldn't give any less shits about but put his foot in it (both feet actually) when it really fucking mattered? He rubbed the back of neck and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, so I'm gonna go."

Barnes swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed under his stubbly skin. "You don't have to. I don't wanna kick you out of your own home."

Tony pulled a face, and a beer out the fridge. He hesitated and grabbed one for Barnes too and flipped the caps off. Maybe that was a subtle hint that Barnes didn't want to be alone. Fine with him, Tony could roll with that. He was, of course, the part-time master of subtlety when he wanted to be. "It is home, isn't it? Don't know how it happened but here we are.”

Tony dropped down onto the sofa closest (but not too close) to Barnes and offered him the bottle. Barnes glanced at it and took it. He clinked his bottle against Tony’s in thanks.

“Sorry about the...” Tony gestured with the bottle. “Before. I didn't mean...you know.”

Barnes took a few hearty gulps. “Yeah, I know. It wasn't that, just--” he shrugged, scraping the label of the bottle with his nail and very pointedly not looking at him. He cleared his throat. “You uh….you look just like your old man. Like, a lot, and it’s pretty dark in here.” Barnes shrugged again, lips pressed together tightly.

Tony hummed and flashed a small smile, as fake as one of Bucky’s own. He was quietly impressed but mostly it made his chest ache.

A sharp, sudden burst of static in his arm made them both jump. Tony raised his eyebrows at the noise, sipping his beer. Bucky scowled and hugged himself with his metal arm. He could feel Stark's curious gaze on him.

They drank their beer in silence, until Bucky couldn't take it anymore. His empty bottle clattered to the ground as he fled to the elevator. 

Tony watched him go.

*

Bucky could hear the faint whirring and clicking of his arm recalibrating, followed by the telltale buzz of failed recalibration.

He flexed his fingers, circled his wrist, bent his elbow, and rolled his shoulder. It was the same routine that had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember. The thought left more than a sour taste in his mouth, but he his gritted teeth and continued bitterly. He had little choice.

It was inevitable, really, he always knew that. His arm was made to endure but he's always had regular maintenance and upgrades. It's been more than a year since anyone's so much as saw his arm, let alone popped the hood and gotten inside, and now the thought of anyone coming near him with the intention of doing just that, prying tools and machines in hand makes dread cold and consuming threaten to overwhelm him. 

Because after maintenance always comes the icy cold oblivion of being wiped again, pieces of himself torn away and obliterated, replaced with something that's not him, that he never wanted to be, over and over and over again.

He’s immediately on the defence, even alone in his room, and that means _offence_. He tries to keep calm, and he's eternally thankful and grateful that Steve isn't in the room to see this, but it's too much, he's losing. The thin façade of control breaks. He lashes out at the nearest thing possible and a sleek lamp shatters against the opposite wall. He feels mildly satisfied until he hears and _feels_ the buzz from his arm again and tears of frustration burn and well in his eyes. Bucky presses the heels of his palms to his eyes hard enough to see stars in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. He feels so achingly, suffocatingly alone and lost. He's an asset with no owner. Without instructions he's obsolete, he has no purpose. A weapon with no aim, no finger behind his trigger. Tears slide down from the corners of his eyes and he knows he’s lost. His lungs burn and he relishes in it, until he realises he's holding his breath. He releases it, gasping for air, breath hitching until he’s full on sobbing in the still room.

 _Machines don't breathe_ , something Sam had told him. Bucky slides his shaking hand over his heart and feels it pounding in his chest. He is alive. He breathes, he feels, he thinks. In pieces, Bucky slowly comes back to himself. He suppresses the pull of the Soldier (and how easy it could be to slide into that blankness and violence, precision over emotion because the Soldier isn't anyone) and tries to convince himself the Soldier doesn't exist anymore and with effort rises to pace the length of his room.

 _He's safe, he's with Steve_ , is all that Bucky repeats in his head. The repetition helps, as well as his movements. Bucky even tries saying it out loud a few times, rough voice breaking through the tense air. It's a grounding mantra that almost works. He's safe, but his arm isn't. He looks at it miserably, lips curled back in contempt and disgust. Bucky hates it so much in that instant he almost can't breathe for it, hates everything it stands for, everything it’s done, he wishes--

Bucky knows what he wishes. He wishes a hell of a lot, but it's futile. His options are limited to say the least, and he hates most of them, but the fact that it's _his_ choice to make is at least enough to make him walk almost calmly to the elevator.

*

Even though Bucky and Sam talked for hours everyday for weeks solid, Steve didn't know what they talked about exactly. He had a good guess, but Sam was vague on details (at Bucky's request) and Bucky immediately refused to discuss anything with him. The offer was firmly there though, Steve made sure Bucky knew. 

The one thing Bucky had quietly admitted to Steve was that it was jarring, almost surreal to have only his own voice in his head. Hard to remind himself that it was normal after all the years of mind control and conditioning. To have only his own voice in his head made him panic. It's not _right_. It's too quiet, it's too loud, the silence is deafening. It's at those times when Bucky's desperate for something, anything else to fill his head is when he's most dangerous and vulnerable.

(Steve had a feeling there was more to it than that, more that Bucky wasn't telling him, but he didn't push. Bucky would hopefully come around and trust him with it all in his own time but for now he had Sam and that was enough)

So when Steve woke up in the early hours of the morning and couldn't find Bucky for a good fifteen minutes, suffocating panic set in. He immediately feared the worse and hated himself for it.

"JARVIS? Do you have eyes on Bucky?"

"Certainly, Captain. Not literally of course. Sergeant Barnes is in the lab."

Steve froze in his sweep of the communal area. "Alone?"

"He's with sir, Captain."

"Is everything okay?"

"Quite. On both their behalves."

"How long have they been in there?"

"A few hours now. The elevator should be free, Captain."

And that's where Steve found him. Both of them.

Bucky was sat behind Tony's workbench leaning over with his head bent close to watch intently at whatever Tony's pointing out to him. Tony has the spare circuitry of one gauntlet from the suit laid open and spread covering most of the worktop. It's a labyrinth of wire, art in it's own right.

A gleam of silver catches Steve's eye. Bucky's metal arm is stretched out in front him, the fingers of his metal hand plugged into some kind of adaptor with multicoloured wires hooked up to a screen and some other machines Steve couldn't guess to name. Bucky's fingers twitch in sync and then alternatively, tapping out a pattern in the air. Some plates on Bucky's deltoid shift and slide in and out of place. Bucky frowns down at it but Tony tugs his sleeve to get his attention back, murmuring, "Hey, you're good. Don't worry about it." Tony's mouth continues running it's mile a minute commentary on what everything does. He points to things and every now and then Bucky nods, eyes tracking the easy steady flow of Tony's hands.

But what really gets Steve is the fact Bucky's not even really concerned about it. He's leant away from it to get a closer look at what Tony's explaining. Even on movie nights or at breakfast Bucky's arm would lie covered and guarded in his lap. He'd always be careful to use his right hand and arm, especially at dinner, yet here he is; in Tony's _lab_. Getting a check-up.

"See? I told you it's the same deal. Sort of," Tony scratched the back of his head and put his hands out and waited patiently. Steve watched in amazement as Bucky eventually, cautiously and so so carefully, laid his plugged up metal palm in Tony's waiting hands.

"I mean, I'm a genius that goes without saying--"

"You said it anyway. Twice."

"--yeah and that's me being modest. But give me 'til tomorrow and I should have a pretty decent if not perfect idea how this thing works. The scan I did will create a holographic x-ray. Uh, you know what that is?"

"I think I can guess." Bucky muttered, dry as a damn desert.

"No guessing in my lab, Barnes," Tony tapped Bucky's forearm with the tool he'd just picked up. "We'll be able to see all the inner workings without actually getting into it yet. Like a projected blueprint you can walk around in because I don't get all up inside of the prosthetics until at least the fourth date." Tony smirked and nudged Bucky's side. "Admit it, I'm a genius, right?"

"You're definitely something."

"Is it circuitry? Gears? Who knows. Could be steam powered but you came to the right man. Swing by tomorrow and we'll know for sure because sleep is for the weak. Steve!" Tony smiled brightly when he finally spotted Steve watching from the door. There was a smudge of grime on Tony’s cheek Steve had to resist the urge to wipe away.

Bucky flinched hard at the sudden outburst, but when he looked over at Steve there was a light in his eyes and he looked at ease. Not exactly relaxed (he was still plugged into some unknown machine in an unfamiliar lab with someone he didn't know) but not like he wanted to escape as quick and soon as he could and never look back.

"I was just--" his throat suddenly thick, Steve thinks he'll never be able to tell Tony how much this means to him, “--thinking of ordering pizza. Want anything?"

"The usual." Tony scoffed, like it was obvious, which it probably was.

Steve leaves them to it and a few hours later, Bucky steps out of the elevator to Steve's floor with a new pair of goggles on. He made a half hearted gesture of spreading his arms but dropped them back to his sides. He looked down and faintly grinned, bashful. "What do you think?"

"Looks good, Buck. Real good." Steve said, and meant it.

"Tony made them," and he sounds sheepish but genuinely excited. "They can see through walls and I'm pretty sure they can shoot lasers if I concentrate enough, but I don't know if Tony was joking or not," Bucky pauses and looks up. Steve can't see his eyes but he'd bet Bucky was squinting. "Barton's eating your pizza by the way."

Steve laughs brightly, not even lamenting his lost pizza, happy because Bucky's happy. _Tony_. Not "Stark" or "Howard’s son". Steve can't believe it. Sam had been _Wilson_ for at least a week solid, even with their talks.

Steve watched as Bucky reached a hand up to the goggles that sit like a second skin over the top half of his face, over his eyes. It lifts right off Bucky’s face, no unbuckling or straps. "It’s matched for my prints only, on both hands. You couldn't pry it off with a crowbar. Modern textiles, am I right?" Bucky grins.

He held the new gear in almost reverent hands and bit his lip, thumbed the lens of one eye. "I'll be out there fighting with you again one day. All of you. I'm gonna have your back again, Steve, I promise. But--" Bucky’s voice broke and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "Not yet. I'm not ready yet." He admits softly.

"All we have is time, Bucky. You take as long as you need. I’ll be there for all of it."

Bucky nods, frowning heavily against the sudden burn in his eyes and clears his throat again. "You're dating Howard Stark's son." He said after a pause, aiming for wry.

 _Shit_. "Maybe I am." Steve said archly.

"Steve."

"Yeah I am."

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I _was_ going to tell you. You were kinda preoccupied. How’d you find out?”

“Well because subtle ain't in your vocabulary. Or his.”

Steve hesitated. “Is it gonna be a prob--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky punched his arm. “A problem.” He scoffed. "It'll be a problem if he hurts you, I can tell you that for sure."

Steve flushed and rolled his eyes but felt a grin threatening to split his face. "My hero."

"Damn right," Bucky agreed. "And since you're already up....what are the chances of pancakes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH NOW WE'RE GETTING INTO IT
> 
> also "ordering pizza" steven please it's like 6am


	5. Chapter 5

Rhodey doesn't pick up on the first ring. The phone picks up for him thanks to one of Tony’s exclusive built in _Rhodey Features_ ™. Very effective, Tony thinks.

"I'm not even going to ask if you know what time it is here because you probably don't even know what time it is _there_ ,” Rhodey’s voice is pillow muffled. Tony feels minutely guilty but what are friends for? “Find the nearest responsible adult."

"I told you already you didn't need anymore beauty sleep. And since when are you the time zone genius?"

"Since I had JARVIS program a separate time on my phone to show the time zone the arc reactor is in, which isn't the point right now. What's wrong, Tony? Mortal peril? You're pretty calm if it is."

"Well,” Tony says at length, dragging out the word in an attempt to stall. “Nothing's actually _wrong_. No immediate mortal peril. Which is sorta the problem, you know?"

"I really don't. No immediate mortal peril is a problem? Do I need to fly over? Elaborate or hand the phone over to JARVIS or Steve."

Tony takes a deep breath. "Okay please don't be mad but the Winter Soldier is here. In the tower. Well, Bucky Barnes is. He's been here for a while but tonight he came to the lab because his arm was fucked up. The metal one. And he looked so fucking lost and on edge it hurt to look at him. I wanted to give him a fucking _hug_ or something, Rhodey. I felt so guilty and I've hardly even met him before."

Rhodey's deathly silent on the other end of the line which Tony knows is worse than if Rhodey had jumped up stumbling in the dark for the War Machine suit.

“Are you--”

“No, I'm fine.”

"Did he--"

"No, he didn't,” Tony doesn't let Rhodey finish. “He definitely had his chances if he wanted to, but he didn't. And the worst part? He said thanks at the end of it, like I'd done him a huge favour. Like he owed me."

"Okay. Alright. Give me a second here. Why didn't you tell me you were pretty much harbouring a wanted criminal? Probably _the_ most wanted criminal?"

"Sworn to secrecy," Tony says immediately. "Captain's orders."

“Captain’s orders,” Rhodey repeats almost incredulously, like he has to hear the words again to believe them. “First? When did you suddenly start listening to orders? And second? When did you suddenly start keeping secrets from _me_? Did Steve forget I'm an Avenger too?"

Tony grimaces at the phone, tinkers with the nearest thing on his workbench. "Sorry, Rhodey. Don't be mad."

Rhodey sighs on the other end, and then comes the crisp rustling of bed sheets. "I'm not mad. And I'm not gonna scold you for doing what you were told to do for once." Rhodey pauses and Tony faintly hears running water. "So what's he like?"

Tony leans back in his chair and hugs his soldering iron to his chest, contemplating. "Quiet, but I think that's on purpose maybe? Tense, but who the hell could blame him, he doesn't know me. You know what really got me though? He's actually really fucking nice? He and Steve are different shades of the same colour." Tony feels weirdly treacherous for what he says next, like he's betraying Bucky's trust or something. "But he looks tired though, and not just the kind you sleep off."

They're both silent and Tony feels empathy twist his mouth into a frown.

"Poor guy." Rhodey sighs simply but Tony can hear the very real and sincere sympathy in those two words. Both Rhodey and Barnes are soldiers, Tony realises belatedly. He decides he'll introduce them one day (they're bound to meet eventually anyway) and who knows, maybe they'll hit it off. In fact, Tony’s determined to introduce them himself.

“Understatement,” Tony scrubs a tired hand over his face. "I probably shouldn't have told you this."

"You can tell me anything. Don't get too hung up on it. You okay?"

Tony made a vague high pitched noise of affirmation.

"You gonna let me sleep?"

Tony made a vague high pitched noise of affirmation.

"Good. I'm a phone call away, remember that. Like you'd forget actually, when my phone picks up _for_ me. Goodnight, Tones. Stay safe or I'll kill you myself."

"Yeah, yeah I know. You too. Night, honey bear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little interlude because I know how much tess loves rhodey heh (same tbh)
> 
> thank you for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update!! we can all agree the real life is a binch!!!!! but tbh things are actually are as good as they've ever been in a looong time lately, I just hope it lasts lmao
> 
> anyways I know civil war is out in america either yesterday or today but it was out here in the UK like a week ago and oH BOY I hated seeing my kids fight :(((((
> 
> superhusbands killed me, bucky has my heart and soul as always and t'challa owns this ass

It happens steadily after that, but it happens.

The others, they see the way Tony acts, as natural as hell around Bucky the next morning over breakfast and the next week, like they’re old friends (and really just seeing Bucky there alone is enough of a genuine surprise for them) and it’s because of that they're less hesitant about keeping their own distance. They don't surround him, they know better than that (some by personal experience and others by common sense) but the gaping space between them is slowly and cautiously bridged.

With Bucky's and Tony's....Steve doesn't know what to call it. Bond? Relationship? Friendship? Whatever it is, it's helped in ways Steve could only dream. 

Bruce is the first one to really approach him over the next few days, followed by Clint, armed with his special brew of coffee. Bucky takes a sip and his eyes light up like he's never tasted anything like it. He doesn't say it but Clint can read it, and he smirks and pulls up a seat next to him and joins the conversation. Natasha is still wary, as politely as she can be but Thor’s hearty laugh makes up for her temporary guarded silence.

They spend most of the morning chatting away in the communal area, arguing about nothing when Tony convinces Steve to have lunch together for the first time in weeks. Steve glances at Bucky who just rolls his eyes and pointedly waves him off, carries on listening to the research Bruce was telling him about.

Steve had smiled his way when they were alone. "So, when did Stark become Tony exactly?" 

"No one can resist my charm." Tony yawned, mouth gaping.

"Right." Steve snorted. He combed his fingers through Tony's hair. It stood up on end where he left it. Tony blinked sleepy eyes up at him. After hearing him and Bucky talking about his metal arm in the lab Steve can guess why he’s so tired.

"I love you so much." Steve said softly.

Tony grinned. “See? My point exact--”

Steve didn't give him the chance to finish, he kissed the words right from of his mouth.

*

Later that day Tony looked up in alarm, pushing his welding mask up as someone stormed into the lab and right past him. Bucky vaulted over the worktops and stalked straight up to the old sofa tucked into the corner and launched himself face down on it. He stayed there.

Tony blinked. After a moment of silence filled only by the soft whirring of the tools in his hands, he asked, “Uh. You wanna talk about it?”

“Absolutely not.” Was Bucky’s cushion muffled reply.

“Fair enough.” Tony agreed. So he casually hangs out with Steve's ex-dead ex-assassin best friend, that's their deal now. Fine by him, he thinks as he finished up his welding and dropped down onto his mechanic's creeper and rolled underneath the hood of the technically-not-a-car in the middle of his lab. He can handle that (he doesn't want to consider the consequences if he can't, but then, he fiercely reminds himself that _can't_ isn't in his vocabulary)

Bucky never moved or made a sound for so long Tony thought he’d fallen asleep or something and he’s lost in his tinkering again by the time he hears rather than sees Bucky shuffling on the sofa. Tony peeked out just as Bucky ripped a cushion up and started pummelling the thing with both fists, then the sofa _with_ the cushion.

“Woah! What did my upholstery and home furnishings ever do to you?”

Bucky growled, and launched the pillow in Tony’s general direction. Probably could've hit him if he really wanted to, Tony mused.

“Ready to talk about it yet?”

Bucky glanced at him sharply and clenched his jaw tightly.

“I was making coffee, the way Barton showed me. Everything was fine, swell even. Natasha, she was talking to me, telling me something in Russian because she said I shouldn't get rusty and then,” he held his metal hand up and crushed his fist. “Fuckin’ shattered coffee mug shards everywhere. For half a second, barely even that, I didn't know where I was. I didn't know who I was, or what the fuck I was doing.

“God I keep fucking up. Every time I think I'm doing good I--” he shook his head and stared hard out of the long panel windows, the open skies and streets spread below.

Tony gaped at him. It took a lot to leave him speechless.

“Wow. Bucky. You’re being really fucking harsh on yourself, and yeah, that’s coming from me, Mr. Self Loathing Criticism. Any other person would be down and out for the whole fucking count by now. Look how far you've come in what, a few weeks? And that's just being in the tower. Fuck,” Tony breathed, his turn to shake his head in disbelief. Bucky stared at him. “I aggressively believe in you, okay? So does Steve, Sam, all of them. Hell, even my dad.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but Tony cut him off.

"No wait, you know what? You are a good person who's been forced to do terrible things. That's not an excuse, that's a fact and you deserve to hear it. You need to know it and believe it, and I'm gonna be there to remind you everyday until you do."

Bucky couldn't meet his eyes. He drifted and swung himself up onto Tony’s empty worktop, pulled his knees to his chest. "I don't...." he trailed off and gestured with his hands as if he could pluck the right words from the air. When he couldn't he huffed in frustration, a heavy crease appearing between his eyebrows. "I don’t wanna scare them. I don't wanna be the threat. But I _am_. I still am.” He tips his head back and looks at the ceiling.

Tony kicked out from under the hood of the technically-not-a-car and groaned as he sat up, spine arching as he stretched. He crossed his legs and hummed thoughtfully.

"You don't scare them. Maybe intimidate I guess. Only sometimes though!" he clarified at the face Bucky pulled. "They're careful because they want to help. They understand, yeah maybe not exactly or perfectly but...they wanna help. So do I." He shrugged and Bucky jumped back down from his perch on the worktop to offer a hand up and easily hauled Tony to his feet, snorting when Tony almost lost his balance.

"I just wanna be okay." Bucky said softly, metal hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I know you don't wanna hear it but, time. Give yourself time, Buck.” Tony patted his back then tried to tug him over. “Hey you wanna help me out? I have some heavy lifting that’s perfect for a strapping young man like yourself.”

“Yeah I don’t think so,” Bucky smiled. It slid right off his face when he eyed the approaching storm clouds from the window. A flash of lightning in the distance made him frown. “Next time maybe.” 

*

Sometime in his first week at the tower Bucky had told Steve it was jarring but honestly, that wasn't even the quarter of it, let alone the half. To put it mildly it's devastating and he hates himself for it, his weakness, his helplessness. He hates himself for hating himself.

Bucky could promise with absolute surety he'd had enough of labs over the past seventy years, but there's something about Tony's lab that's strangely inviting. Definitely non-threatening. Nothing malicious and no instruments of torture to be found here. And that's fine with him. So when things _do_ get too quiet or too loud in his head like he told Steve and he's left with only his own achingly familiar voice, he goes to Tony.

He _would_ go to Steve but he desperately doesn't want to let him down, let Steve see for himself that he isn't the same Bucky that fell from the train. He's trying so hard to be but he just isn't. He's more than that now. He's different. Will Steve accept the new person he is? It's a question that plagues Bucky day and night. He almost loses himself to that question, but then Steve will smile at him, or laugh at his jokes, head thrown back and eyes crinkled shut and grabbing at _both_ of their chests and any shadows of doubt die in the light that is Steve Rogers. But sometimes it’s overwhelming.

Like now, as thunder lashes outside with a force Bucky would swear rocks the very core of the tower but it’s all in his head, he knows, and something instinctive and primal registers _threat_ and gunfire and objective. He struggles, control fraying at his tattered seams as he registers with horror the door to his room opening. A strip of light streamed from the hall and suddenly Steve is there, outlined in the faint glow. Something jolts and white noise roars in his ears. Steve's face twists in concern and it's the last thing Bucky sees before he blacks in and out of consciousness on the spot. He sways heavily on his feet and shakes his head in a hopeless attempt to clear it. Steve makes to move forward, hand outstretched and Bucky backs away automatically and doesn't stop until he hits the far wall with a dull thud, farthest from Steve as he could get. The air in his lungs is cloying and he's suffocating on it. His knees buckle and his slides all the way down until he's huddled against the wall on the floor. He hugged his knees to his chest and trembled violently, white knuckled and wild eyed.

He knows Steve can hear the whimpers escaping from behind his clenched teeth and he wants to die right here and now and get it over with and he can't stop crying and it's them, they've found him they're coming for him and he has no weapon and he has to protect Steve and he can't fucking _breathe_ and he--

"Bucky?"

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head. With one shaking hand he covered the back of his neck and with the other his mouth.

"I don't wanna hurt you." Bucky whispered into his palm, words spilling from his fingers.

"It hurts seeing you hurt." Steve said honestly.

"Well I guess we're both fucked then, aren't we?" Bucky laughed miserably. The thunder had stopped.

Steve could only watch helplessly for so long. He knelt at Bucky's side and he's more than hesitant to touch Bucky like this, but then Bucky collapses sideways towards him and it's all Steve can do to catch him in his arms and hold him, the both of them, steady. He manages not to sway under Bucky's weight, and Bucky just lets himself be held as he shakes and sobs silently into Steve’s broad chest.

After unknown heartbreaking minutes, Bucky shuddered and finally stilled in his arms.

"Okay?" Steve asks and it's so starkly similar to that first night all those weeks ago he feels a little breathless for it.

"Tired. Took some of them sleeping pills but the storm…." Bucky murmured, throat raw, and Steve thinks back to something Tony had told him after he'd called Rhodey, _not just the kind you sleep off_.

"C'mon. Bed."

Steve managed to get them to their feet without letting him go and settles Bucky back in his bed. That Bucky lets him without fuss just proves how exhausted he is.

"Move over, I'm not leaving you alone tonight. It’ll be like back in the day. Or do you want your space?” But Bucky's already asleep, soft breath coming out in warm little huffs from his parted mouth. There was a deep frown on his face. No peace even in sleep, Steve thought regretfully.

He tucked Bucky in and left, hesitating before getting in the elevator. JARVIS knows where he needs to be. Steve found Tony face down in a patch of his own drool on top of the covers of their bed, a tablet in one hand and his finger still pressed to the screen with the other.

Steve combed his fingers through Tony's short hair and laid his hand on the back of Tony's bare neck, set the tablet on the bedside table.

Tony hummed and blearily blinked awake. "Steve." He smiled sleepily and it filled Steve with a wonderful warmth.

"Hey," he smiled back, helpless to it. "Didn't wanna wake you."

"S'fine." Tony promised and reached for him, dragging Steve down.

"I probably shouldn't stay the whole night."

"He'll be fine, Cap. JARVIS, keep an eye on him will you? If he even breathes funny wake us. Steve you deserve a night off."

"Bucky doesn't get nights off." Steve said, absently thumbing the line of Tony's stubbly jaw.

Tony grimaced in apology. He gently tugged Steve forward until their foreheads were pressed together. "Sorry," he murmured, and brushed kisses to any part of Steve's face and neck he could reach. Steve's eyes drifted shut under the touch.

“How is he?” Tony murmured.

“He’s trying real hard and uh, yeah he’s not too good, he--” Steve’s voice caught on the edge of tears and he could feel himself start to shatter. The weight of everything suddenly coming crashing down. Tonight, the past seventy years, the train in the snow and the fall. "He's suffering so bad. He’s my best friend, Tony. My best damn friend, and I can't even help him. What can I do? Make him pancakes and watch movies with him? I feel so sorry for him, but he doesn't want it, he hates the pity, I know he does but I don’t--" Steve pressed his face into Tony's neck and sobbed brokenly. "Please tell me what to do. I can't lose him again, not twice. It'd kill me, Tony."

"Hey, hey," Tony soothed and ran gentle hands up the back of Steve's neck and across his broad shoulders. “He loves your pancakes, by the way. They're definitely helping in their pancakey way. Stay a few hours? You gotta sleep too."

"A few hours." Steve agreed and pulled back to tug his shirt up and off over his head. Tony watched him, lips parted at the stretch and shift of muscle beneath Steve's skin.

Steve caught the look and ducked to press a kiss to Tony's slack mouth.

"JARVIS, four hours. If nothing's on fire and the world isn't ending, make it five. Keep an eye on Bucky."

Steve draped himself over Tony like a human blanket, and Tony loved it, always loves the content feeling of being safe and secure beneath Steve's heavy bulk. He wished he could be that for Steve right now, so he settles for clinging like a barnacle.

*

“Mornin’ Sergeant.”

“Hey.” Bucky smiles faintly. He looks rough, pale and exhausted. Tony hops down from the kitchen counter. “Is Steve okay?”

“Yeah yeah he’s fine, just snoring his heart out. Well no, actually he’s not okay but he won't tell you that. He’s worried about you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Understatement.”

“Right? So,” Tony pulled up a seat at the kitchen table opposite Bucky. “Lay it on me.”

Bucky snorted. "I don't think so."

"Why? I'm totally impartial here. Nothing I say will leave the two of us. I'm here for you. These ears and shoulders have your name on them."

"You're persistent."

"That's a nice way of saying annoying, which is what friends are for. You won't talk to Steve."

Bucky suddenly looked mildly panicked. It was a subtle change, just at the edges of his control, but Tony caught it. "I can't."

"Okay. Do you know how much Steve loves you?"

"Stop it. That's one of the reasons alright? I can't talk to him about.... this," he gestured vaguely to himself, "because I don't wanna say something I'll regret," Bucky said to the floor. "Because it's not his fault, and I know Steve blames himself. He always does, even before the serum."

Bucky broke off and shook his head. "He doesn't even have to say it because it's right there every time he looks at me. _It's not his fault_. He thought I was dead. He didn't know, and neither did I."

Tony nodded slowly. "It's not Steve's fault, you're absolutely right but, and I promised I'd be here to remind you, it's not _your_ fault either. It's not your fault. It wasn't you."

Bucky bit his lip. Tony could hear his foot tapping away a relentless erratic beat on the tiled floor. "I...I'm different now. I'm more than who I was when I fell from that train. I don't know how to explain it. I've talked to Sam about it but," he pressed his mouth into a thin line and shook his head again, glancing away, "Steve's the only one who knew me back then. He's the only one who'll be able tell now and I'd rather die than disappoint him again. I'm still.... _me_ , just," Bucky covered his mouth. "It changes you in ways you can't imagine. I'm still Bucky, just not the same Bucky. I'm more than that now."

"It's been seventy years, right? You're allowed to be different. People are different everyday."

Bucky frowned at him. "That's not what I mean."

"I know, I know. I just mean...." Tony's not sure what he means. Does Steve really think he's getting the same childhood friend back? Surely he’s not that gullible. "He'll understand. What happened to you, it leaves its mark. Anyone could understand that."

Bucky stared at his palms. "I'm still me, just different." He repeated.

“And that's okay. No one expects you to be anything but yourself. Whoever that is.”

Bucky breathed a tired laugh, genuinely amused. "That's easy to say when you haven't been a brainwashed assassin for the past seventy years. Do I even know who I am?"

"Well you know who you're not and that's a start. I know we've only hung out like five times but the Bucky I know?" Tony shrugged. "I kinda like him. Like, a bunch actually. And probably not what you wanna hear but maybe it's time to talk to Steve about this. Have you met Steve? Big, blonde, beautiful inside and out? He's a pretty understanding guy. Big on second chances and seeing the best in people. You'd like him."

"Shut up, Tony." Bucky said with no real heat and wiped his face. He felt wrung out like an old damp rag at the distress over this confession, and it did feel like a confession, like he'd bared a part of his soul, the deepest darkest part, the most tainted. He felt like Tony could destroy him with a single word. He felt raw and exposed.

“I've gotta tell him.” Bucky sighed. "I need to tell him everything."

“Sure,” Tony said at length. “But we’re on your terms here, okay? Are you ready to tell him?”

“No. I don’t know.” Bucky rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but he has to know. He _needs_ to know. I can’t keep pretending to be something I'm not, Tony. ”

Tony caught one of Bucky's twitching feet between his own. "It'll be okay. I still aggressively believe in you."

Bucky inhaled deeply and let it out slow. "Thanks."

"No problem." Tony sipped his coffee. "You know, I'm actually usually very emotionally constipated. You'd never guess, would you?"

Bucky smiled until his cheeks ached. It was easy to not think about anything else, for awhile.

*

Steve returns to his floor and is met with the increasingly uncommon sight of Sam Wilson eating him out of tower and home. Again.

"Hey man." Sam salutes with Cheetos dusty fingers and a smile.

"Welcome back." Steve grins but pauses when he sees the gathered company. Sam, Bucky and, "Tony?" He stops by the sofas, surprised. "What are you doing here? You know this isn't your lab right?"

Tony snorts but sobers quickly enough. He nudges Bucky's arm.

"Buck?"

Bucky glances up and looks Steve straight in the eye. His hands aren't shaking. He doesn't know what that means. "I need to tell you something. Everything. You'd, uh, better sit down."


End file.
